


A Mystic Change of Plans

by alexjometric



Series: A Mystic Change of Plans [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: California, F/M, Gen, Mermaids
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-22
Updated: 2014-02-22
Packaged: 2018-01-13 08:27:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1219423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexjometric/pseuds/alexjometric
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A man finds a sick young woman on the side of a highway in Death Valley, California. What he discovers next is unbelievable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Mystic Change of Plans

I’ve got to get to Mom and Dad’s by tomorrow afternoon. There’s no way I can get there late and not get lectured for being late for Dad’s birthday. The dude’s turning 68, I don’t see the big deal, and neither does he. I still have another 10 hours of driving to do, not to mention hotel stays for sleep and food, and it’s already 10 at night. I’m pretty sure I could make it, but I don’t want to set that standard for myself. It’ll just make it all the more stressful for me.  
I look out at the road ahead; I’m the only one here. I’m guessing this particular road through Death Valley doesn’t get a lot of visitors. I turn the air conditioning up and change the song on my iPod to shuffle a Johnny Cash album. His music made everything seem a bit easier, as if listening to it slowed down the pulses of reality going through your brain.  
As I’m having my own internal, slightly fangirlish moment in my mind, I see something out of the corner of my eye, and then it’s gone. I stop and check my mirrors. It’s a girl. Who hitchhikes in Death Valley? I back up to her and roll down my window.  
“What’s wrong?” I ask her. “Why are you out here?” She’s covered in dirt, looks sick and extremely fragile, as if she would turn to dust right in front of you if you touched her. All I hear her say is “please help,” and she collapses. I put my car in park and go around to the side. I pick her up, and carefully lie her down in the back seat of my car. She’s not dead, just passed out, and from the looks of it, the cause is dehydration. I grab the bottle of water from the middle console up front. It’s cold from the constant air conditioning in my car. I pour just enough to go down easily without accidentally choking her. I splash some on her face, and the weirdest thing happens; her skin begins to look brighter wherever it touches, healthier. I know that happens with everyone to some degree, but this is different, so different. Her face becomes almost

radiant with life, and as I’m watching her, she opens her eyes wide and starts coughing heavily. She moves to lean out the car door in anticipation to vomit, but there’s nothing for her to throw up. “Water,” I hear her croak. She holds out her hand. I give her the bottle and wait. She chugs it down in maybe ten seconds.  
After resting for a few moments and regaining her breath, she says “I need your help.”  
“Apparently.” I get out of the car, open the passenger side door, and motion for her to get in. She’s disheveled, but seems healthier and perfectly competent. Why can’t water do that to me? I start driving and after about a half an hour, I break the silence.

“Look,” I tell her, “you’re probably some runaway with a bad past and all you probably need is water, food, and rest. I’m going to take you to the nearest gas station, give you fifty bucks and go on my way.”  
“I appreciate the sentiment, and water and food would be wonderful, but I cannot let you leave me like that.” Who does she think she is? “I need you to take me to the nearest ocean beach.” “That’s over two hundred miles away! Look, I’m already on a tight schedule. I can’t afford the time it takes to get you there and then back to where I need to be. I know there’s something off with you from the way you reacted with the water, and I can’t tell what it is, but it isn’t my business.” Then she says the craziest thing anyone has ever said to me.

“I’m a mermaid.”  
“What?” She just stared at me and waited, because she knew I had heard her. “Those don’t exist.”

“You saw how my skin reacted to your water being splashed on my face. Can you explain that?”  
“No, but can you explain why you don’t have fins for legs?” She was dressed in simply a ratty t-shirt, jeans, and canvas shoes. She looked at me as though I were an idiot and thought for a second before answering me.  
“Do you really think those storybooks you read as a child got it all right? Am I supposed to be wearing a seashell bra and have flaming red hair, too? We have the ability to adapt. If I’m stranded on land, I have legs and can survive just as you do. Although, I must admit this form is much weaker. The water had the healing effect on me because water is my life source. I got stranded on a beach, unconscious, and two men took me. I woke up in their run down shack house, and they tried to harm me. Needless to say, they won’t be trying that on me or anyone else anymore.” I actually believed her for a moment. She was looking at me, and I noticed for the first time that her eyes were the brightest blue I had ever seen. Almost like…the ocean…  
I looked at her too long and almost drove off the edge of the road. After regaining composure, I agree to take her to the nearest beach. “It’ll be about 4 hours before we’re there,” I tell her, and she agrees to wait. I stop at a drive through and get food for myself. She’s repulsed by greasy, processed imitation food, so we stop at a gas station where she can buy fruit and water. About halfway into the trip, I explain to her that it’s one in the morning, and I need to sleep. We stop at a Holiday Inn Express and I get us a room with two separate beds. We’re both lying on our beds in the dark and I ask what her name is. “Adella,” she responds, and then she falls asleep. I do, too.

The next morning, we drive to the city and I take her to a Whole Foods store so she can get something to hold her over for the remainder of the drive. We have about two hours left from here. She picks up more apples and water; apparently she’s a creature of habit.

We talk about food, weather, and try to avoid the topic of her “mermaidness.” I don’t even know why I’m doing this. Am I crazy, too? I don’t know what it is about her, but she seems genuine, pure, but stern. She feels real. Her words feel real, and her eyes don’t falter in the way those of liars do. I think it’s safe to say I’ll miss her when she’s gone, whether she leaves in the water, or if I end up driving her to a relative’s house. Driving her somewhere like that is probably the more sensible thing to do, but I’m curious and committed to this endeavor.

We arrive at the beach around two in the afternoon, and she almost instinctually finds a deserted part of it, as if she wanted no one else to see her.

“Well, I guess this is goodbye,” Adella says, almost regretfully.  
“I guess so,” I respond. She strips down bare and kisses my cheek, and whispers words of gratitude in my ear. I watch her walk into the ocean, and as she enters the waist-level water, I see her look at me and flip…a fin. A fin. She smiles and flashes those bright blue eyes of hers and swims off.

I reach into my pocket to look for my phone and feel a piece of paper in my right pocket. I don’t remember putting anything there. I take it out and unfold it. In elegant handwriting, it reads:

"Thank you for helping me get back to my family. I promise you, I will see you again…soon.  
Forever with love and gratitude,  
Adella"


End file.
